


The Solidity of Ghosts

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Before Sirion, Escape from Mandos, First Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 19:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18037103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Fingon had asked his uncle to please not mess with the fabric of time itself, no matter how desperate he was to escape Mandos.Did Feanor listen?Of course not.





	The Solidity of Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> One of (several) possible paths "Scion of Somebody, Probably" could take, though you don't really have to read that first - all you really need to know from it is that Feanor has been trying to use Vaire's tapestries of the past to invent time travel as a way to escape Mandos.
> 
> In this fic, he succeeds.
> 
> Sort of.

Fingon didn’t think he was in Mandos anymore.

He blamed Uncle Feanor for that. It was a bit of a presumption, he had to admit, as he didn’t _know_ that this was Uncle Feanor’s fault. Given the fact that he’d been firmly ensconced in Mandos right up until Uncle Feanor had gotten fed up with his latest attempt at time travel and thrown it at the wall, however, Fingon felt fairly safe in laying the blame at his door.

He shivered a bit in the chill air of … Beleriand? Presumably?

He could just make out the faintest sliver of the moon behind thick layers of choking black clouds, so at least he knew he hadn’t gone back too far. As for his surroundings …

He was on the wall of a fortress he didn’t recognize, at least not in the dark. Not Hithlum or Himring, then, though it did have an elvish feel to it.

Unfortunately, that told him almost nothing. Was he at Caranthir’s stronghold, perhaps? A fortress that had arisen after his time? Or even one long after his time; he wasn’t sure there was anything that would have kept him from going forward instead of back as Uncle Feanor had intended.

He looked around, hoping that Uncle Feanor might have been thrown forward to. Then at least he’d have company in this mess.

Uncle Feanor wasn’t there. Another well known elf, however, was.

“Maedhros!” he called in relief before he realized that might not be the best idea. If this time’s Fingon was supposed to be elsewhere, there was no telling how Maedhros might react. If he suspected some trick of the Enemy -

But there was nothing but weariness on Maedhros’s scarred face when he looked up. “Fingon,” he said quietly. “It’s been a while.”

He didn’t comment on Fingon’s clothing which he abruptly realized still consisted of the plain garments of Mandos. Maybe Maedhros thought he’d been sleeping in them.

Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? Would Uncle Feanor be pulling him back any moment now, or was he on his own?

Fingon closed the distance between them cautiously. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.” That was neutral enough, right? Even if this was some visit he couldn’t call to mind just now, they’d never exactly been in the habit of meeting on the battlements at midnight to talk.

Maedhros’s face twisted in a grim parody of a smile. “Why should I be? You came before Doriath; of course you would come now.”

Doriath. The cold that swept over him had nothing to do with the night air. If tonight was being compared to one before Doriath, then … “Sirion,” he realized. “You’re about to attack Sirion.”

“And you’re here to remind me of how far I’ve fallen as you did last time, I assume.”

Last time, Doriath … the full meaning hit him for the first time. Maedhros had seen him at least once before. Possibly more often.

Either Uncle Feanor’s device would end up sending him bouncing all over the past, or Maedhros was even less well than he had thought.

“Maedhros … “ He tried and failed to find more words.

Maedhros waited patiently. “You’re a kinder haunt than the last,” he finally said. “Less shouting.” He looked away. “Less blood.”

Fingon swallowed. “I’m not haunting you, Maedhros.”

His cousin turned back to him. “No? Just the last desperate effort of whatever remains of my conscience, then, I suppose.”

Fingon could barely breathe when he saw the agony in Maedhros’s eyes. 

“No,” he insisted. “I’m here. I’m real. Look - “ He grabbed for Maedhros’s arm, but his cousin jerked it back.

“Don’t. Just let - “

 _Let the illusion last just a little longer,_ Fingon thought he meant to say, but even at his weakest, just after Thangorodrim, Maedhros had refused to take the easy path. He stopped himself and grimly raised his arm to Fingon’s touch.

Fingon took advantage of that light grip to immediately pull him into a hug.

Maedhros stood frozen within the embrace. “Fingon?”

Fingon just clung to him tighter. “Yes, you idiot. I’m not dead.” Currently, at least.

“We thought - we were so sure - But then where - “ Maedhros’s voice broke. “Did _he_ \- Did he take you? After? I didn’t know, Fingon, I swear to you, I never dreamed - “

Fingon cursed himself for a fool. “Not that,” he promised. “Nothing like that, I promise you. I was dead for a while, but I managed to come back.”

Maedhros stiffened even more if that was possible. “That’s not possible.”

“It is. Thanks to your father, actually, though I’m still deciding if _thanks_ is really the right word.” He rubbed Maedhros’s back soothingly. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.” He paused as an idea hit him. “As long as you promise not to attack Sirion until I’m through and have had a chance at talking you out of it. Your Oath can wait that long, surely?”

Maedhros shuddered in disbelief or pain, but Fingon refused to let go until Maedhros finally nodded against his shoulder.

He slumped in relief. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

Maybe things won’t have to be quite so much of a disaster this time around.


End file.
